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My Friend Henry Miller: An Intimate Biography
This rare and vintage book is a perfect addition to any bibliophile's collection
- GenresBiography
Hardcover
First published January 1, 1956
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
March 23, 2025
Henry Miller's universe is expanding for me once again. It's fascinating to look at the events of his books from a different perspective—at him himself from the viewpoint of his characters.
This book represents a unique perspective on Henry Miller, written by his close friend and companion, Alfred Perles.
Perles, an Austrian writer and journalist, was an important figure in Miller’s life, which you can see in Miller’s works, where Perles shows up as 'Carl' in Tropic of Cancer.
Perles' book not only reveals their relationship but also pulls you right into the vibe of 1930s Paris, where Miller’s ideas and creativity really took off. With humor and warmth, Perles shares his memories, showing Miller as a man full of contradictions and inspiration — a kindred spirit whose perspective adds depth to the picture Miller painted in The Tropics.
For anyone interested in Miller and the literature of that time, this memoir, along with the books of Anaïs Nin, is a must-read.
This book represents a unique perspective on Henry Miller, written by his close friend and companion, Alfred Perles.
Perles, an Austrian writer and journalist, was an important figure in Miller’s life, which you can see in Miller’s works, where Perles shows up as 'Carl' in Tropic of Cancer.
Perles' book not only reveals their relationship but also pulls you right into the vibe of 1930s Paris, where Miller’s ideas and creativity really took off. With humor and warmth, Perles shares his memories, showing Miller as a man full of contradictions and inspiration — a kindred spirit whose perspective adds depth to the picture Miller painted in The Tropics.
For anyone interested in Miller and the literature of that time, this memoir, along with the books of Anaïs Nin, is a must-read.
January 27, 2023
I suppose anything I read by or about Henry Miller will receive 5 stars from me, in that I am crazy in love with the man and his writing. This book is a biography written by one of his best friends. Their friendship began in the 30s in Paris and continued until the 60s in Big Sur, California, with some gaps in proximity, but never in communication. It is validating to me to read that Perles's feelings about Miller closely parallel those I have gleaned in reading 3 of Miller's books. Intensely personal, autobiographical, explicit, rarely nuanced, and exuberant in nature, Miller is a person I treasure. I am ordering 3 more of his books today. If asked "What writer would you like to have lunch with?" it's him. N
July 15, 2009
This is great! You can tell why Alfred Perles and Henry Miller were friends - the same kind of gusto and love of life. Well written and very informative.
November 9, 2022
A very warm and erudite narrative around a most affectionate friendship between the author and the novelist during Henry's Villa Seurat and Clichy years, and afterwards in Big Sur. If you, like me, believe that Henry Miller is an incomparable writer and life force, this book will both please and inform you. 'Alf' himself also comes across as likable and thoughtful, a wonderful friend.
Henry himself, in his usual elevating style, gets in the first word during a prologue, writing ...
" ... Nothing like a biography, it must be said, has been attempted in this book. Nor even a critical evaluation of the subject's work. All that he has endeavored to do, my good friend Alf, is to recount the happy life of shame we all long to lead, if only in dream and reverie. It is your story, dear reader, as much as mine or his, and if you lack the sense to perceive it, so much the worse for you. For we were all born of the same mother, drank of the same bitter milk, and will return to the same heavenly bosom, wiser perhaps but not sadder, and certainly none the worse for wear. Any passports we may have used here below will unquestionably be marked 'Invalid'. If we so successfully disguised ourselves as to fool the Creator himself, rest assured we can never fool ourselves. It is all one life, one judgment, one dispensation. The soul goes marching on. It is not we who return again and again, but It. And 'It' knows where it is going despite all the evidence to the contrary."
Towards the end, in an interesting passage, Perles makes the case for Henry to consider a return to Europe ...
What, then is it that Henry lacks, if he lacks anything? Stimulus, I should say. Stimulus is one of the rare items not to be found in this land of plenty. Everything else is there - the gadgets, themoney, the machines, the spirit of enterprise, the best food for robots, humans and animals alike. Even the good will is undeniably there, but no stimulus. You can find stimulus in a Paris hovel, in an Italian trattoria, in a London basement flat, perhaps even in a Vienna air-raid shelter, but not in Hollywood, not in America. There is something in the American scene that kills the thing in the germ, or corrupts it, or turns it into something else. Miller never lacked stimulus in Europe. Oddly enough, many of those who supplied that stimulus were Americans themselves. Removed from the American scene, the American is no less afflicted than in his own country, but abroad he somehow manages to breathe more freely, as though he were in an iron lung. In America the stimulus turns sour; it either decomposes into rancid rancor or it becomes a sort of manure for the hire purchase system.
Henry tries to maintain that he needs no outside stimulus. A man who has lived a full life, he declares, can forever draw on his own inner resources. This is like saying that a man who owns a pond of stagnant water will never have to go thirsty. There is nothing wrong with stagnant water, of course, especially if it is kept clean and disinfected, and maintained at an even temperature by thermostatic control. Unquestionably America can produce the finest, the most hygienic vitamin infested water out of stale piss, if needs be. It is exactly toward that end that the scientific genius of the New World tends - at least in the considered opinion of our Brooklyn boy, Henry Miller.
The question, dear Henry, is this.Do you particularly care for this kind of water or wouldn't you rather prefer to return to the fresh-water spring? I realize that the journey is stressful and full of hazards. But you know the general direction and you are young enough to reach the destination safely. Think it over, Joey. I don't need to make the spring water palatable to you - you've tasted it. Je t'attends - a la source.
Henry himself, in his usual elevating style, gets in the first word during a prologue, writing ...
" ... Nothing like a biography, it must be said, has been attempted in this book. Nor even a critical evaluation of the subject's work. All that he has endeavored to do, my good friend Alf, is to recount the happy life of shame we all long to lead, if only in dream and reverie. It is your story, dear reader, as much as mine or his, and if you lack the sense to perceive it, so much the worse for you. For we were all born of the same mother, drank of the same bitter milk, and will return to the same heavenly bosom, wiser perhaps but not sadder, and certainly none the worse for wear. Any passports we may have used here below will unquestionably be marked 'Invalid'. If we so successfully disguised ourselves as to fool the Creator himself, rest assured we can never fool ourselves. It is all one life, one judgment, one dispensation. The soul goes marching on. It is not we who return again and again, but It. And 'It' knows where it is going despite all the evidence to the contrary."
Towards the end, in an interesting passage, Perles makes the case for Henry to consider a return to Europe ...
What, then is it that Henry lacks, if he lacks anything? Stimulus, I should say. Stimulus is one of the rare items not to be found in this land of plenty. Everything else is there - the gadgets, themoney, the machines, the spirit of enterprise, the best food for robots, humans and animals alike. Even the good will is undeniably there, but no stimulus. You can find stimulus in a Paris hovel, in an Italian trattoria, in a London basement flat, perhaps even in a Vienna air-raid shelter, but not in Hollywood, not in America. There is something in the American scene that kills the thing in the germ, or corrupts it, or turns it into something else. Miller never lacked stimulus in Europe. Oddly enough, many of those who supplied that stimulus were Americans themselves. Removed from the American scene, the American is no less afflicted than in his own country, but abroad he somehow manages to breathe more freely, as though he were in an iron lung. In America the stimulus turns sour; it either decomposes into rancid rancor or it becomes a sort of manure for the hire purchase system.
Henry tries to maintain that he needs no outside stimulus. A man who has lived a full life, he declares, can forever draw on his own inner resources. This is like saying that a man who owns a pond of stagnant water will never have to go thirsty. There is nothing wrong with stagnant water, of course, especially if it is kept clean and disinfected, and maintained at an even temperature by thermostatic control. Unquestionably America can produce the finest, the most hygienic vitamin infested water out of stale piss, if needs be. It is exactly toward that end that the scientific genius of the New World tends - at least in the considered opinion of our Brooklyn boy, Henry Miller.
The question, dear Henry, is this.Do you particularly care for this kind of water or wouldn't you rather prefer to return to the fresh-water spring? I realize that the journey is stressful and full of hazards. But you know the general direction and you are young enough to reach the destination safely. Think it over, Joey. I don't need to make the spring water palatable to you - you've tasted it. Je t'attends - a la source.
April 29, 2021
This is an odd little book. It is not a biography in the typical sense of the word, and Perles says as much... it is rather informal and self-indulgent, more a recollection of memories from ‘the good old days’ strung together in a somewhat loose manner. It is a bit repetitive and reverential at times, and could have benefitted from more editing. But for a Miller fan there are some great stories and perceptive passages in it. It provides a personal lens into his Paris days... painting some colorful portraits of his life and the characters in his milieu. The casual style of the text also lends a certain clarity that you don’t necessarily get from Henry’s writing, which is constantly heightened and distorted by his flights of imagination, his fragmented and chaotic style. There's also a fair bit of railing against the obscenity laws which were still keeping the Tropics from being published in America at the time.
March 22, 2014
Gives you a nice background on miller during the tropic years in paris via his friend alfred, carl is his name in the tropic books i believe
Quotes:
Henry filled her to the brim. With the easy nonchalance of a playful demiurge, he breathed new life into her nostrils until she began to glow with an incandescence. All that was still unformed and diffuse in her crystalized and flowered forth. She made one think of those miraculous jalanese seeds which, when dropped into a vase of water, metamorphose into trees under yr very eyes. She grew, took on stature--and a new kind of dignity. Henry fertilized every artistic ovum in her
Fraenkel preened himself like a peacock
The place was too new for Frankel, not sufficiently contaminated with neurotic possibilities, to meet his approval.
To be a clown doesn't require talent, it requites wisdom: the knowledge of human foibles, vanities, illusions, deficiencies, idiosyncrasies and weaknesses. And knowledge isn't good enough alone--one must be able to accept the imperfection and frailty of human nature, the iniquity, corruption, and profligacy of humanity, and yet realize that all hope is not lost.
Miller's enthusiasm, exuberance, childlikeness, are essentially american. No european could write or talk thus.
There is something in america that kills stimulus: corrupts it, turns it into something else.
Quotes:
Henry filled her to the brim. With the easy nonchalance of a playful demiurge, he breathed new life into her nostrils until she began to glow with an incandescence. All that was still unformed and diffuse in her crystalized and flowered forth. She made one think of those miraculous jalanese seeds which, when dropped into a vase of water, metamorphose into trees under yr very eyes. She grew, took on stature--and a new kind of dignity. Henry fertilized every artistic ovum in her
Fraenkel preened himself like a peacock
The place was too new for Frankel, not sufficiently contaminated with neurotic possibilities, to meet his approval.
To be a clown doesn't require talent, it requites wisdom: the knowledge of human foibles, vanities, illusions, deficiencies, idiosyncrasies and weaknesses. And knowledge isn't good enough alone--one must be able to accept the imperfection and frailty of human nature, the iniquity, corruption, and profligacy of humanity, and yet realize that all hope is not lost.
Miller's enthusiasm, exuberance, childlikeness, are essentially american. No european could write or talk thus.
There is something in america that kills stimulus: corrupts it, turns it into something else.
December 4, 2013
A worshipful portrait of Miller by his Paris compatriot and free spirit, who helped Miller survive through the writing of Tropic of Cancer. Perlès wrote the book while staying as Miller's guest in Big Sur in 1955. The book also features a fictionalized treatment of Miller's Paris lover, Anäis Nin, disguised as Liane de Champsaur.
January 14, 2014
Exceptional book. This book gives the most information I have yet to read about Henry Miller. What was being written while what was going on and where. Who Henry spent time with. Also a great deal of information about articles and stories Henry wrote and which appear in, for instance, Remember To Remember. I have learned so much about Henry Miller I had no idea about before reading this book.
March 13, 2013
Henry Miller is one of those writers whose fame and biography survives as much as his actual work. This memoir by Alfred Perles, a friend from his Paris days, was enjoyable and gives a good perspective on the humor of Miller's work.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews